Ever After: a Newsies Story
by Athena Catriona
Summary: Luna is an intelligent servant girl Spot is the Prince of New York. Can they overcome their obstacles to prove that love conquers all?
1. Once Upon a Time

Disclaimer: All things from Newsies belong to Disney; all things from Ever After belong to Fox. Everything else has either been created by me or donated to me. I'd like to thank all those who let me use their characters for this fic. I know the beginning is pretty much exactly like Ever After, but please keep reading; things will change. Enjoy!

Ever After: a Newsies Story

By Athena

            Although the castle had been constructed of the iciest gray stones, lain carefully by workmen centuries ago, the interior was quite warmer than Rio and Whisper had imagined it would be. Flames blazed in enormous fireplaces, under mahogany mantels carved with pomegranates and roses. Massive tapestries depicting valiant knights on flawlessly white horses or fair ladies in lush gardens hung on the walls. Expensive carpets imported from Turkey and Persia enveloped the floors. Freshly cut flowers, arranged into lavish bouquets, stood with dignified grace in crystal vases. The two young women found it somewhat difficult to focus on the task at hand when there was something new to notice at every turn.

            The tall butler who was currently leading them through room after room did not remark upon their stares of awe. Initially, he had cast the girls a condescending glance as he wondered why would his employer wish to speak with these commoners in the first place. Certainly, there had been talk about them; who hadn't heard about Rio and Whisper Grimm and their tome of local tales? The butler quietly scoffed. _Fairy stories indeed,_ he thought. _Why Lady Smalls would ever request a meeting with the writers of children's stories is beyond my comprehension._

            Rio caught sight of the butler's disdainful expression and narrowed her eyes at him. Leaning over to Whisper, she murmured, "He looks like a character from our book- a disgruntled troll under a bridge, maybe."

            Whisper stifled her laughter and nodded. "If he's any indication of what our audience with Lady Smalls is going to be like, we might be very sorry that we ever agreed to this." They both recalled the afternoon a few days prior, when they had been celebrating the wonderful response to their book of local fairy tales, stories which used not the formal diction of nobles, but the everyday speech of the common folk. A young messenger, not much older than the two girls, had burst into Tibby's (a popular place for the artistic crowd to sip coffee and discuss their latest works) with a letter addressed to them- a letter that requested their presence at the home of Lady Smalls, one of the most prominent noblewomen in the land. The two girls had paled a bit and pondered over the nature of such an invitation. Curiosity eventually got the better of them, although now, only a room away from Lady Smalls herself, the sisters were anxious yet again.

            The butler pushed open a large oak door and announced, "Rio and Whisper, the sisters Grimm, my lady."

            Whisper and Rio glanced from behind the man to see an elderly woman seated in a lush chair, made of dark rosewood and forest green velvet. The room was just as lavishly decorated as the others had been, although this one was surrounded by bookshelves packed with heavy tomes and several works of art in beautiful frames of silver or mahogany. One particularly painting caught the both of the girls' eyes- a portrait of a young woman, perhaps eighteen years old, with fair skin, ebony hair, and beautiful brown eyes. Before they could look at the painting more closely, Lady Smalls spoke up in a dignified yet amiable voice.

            "Welcome, ladies. Won't you please sit down?" she said, motioning to two more chairs which matched her own. As the sisters moved to sit, they studied their hostess. Although her hair (which had obviously once been a vibrant shade of auburn) was graying and the tiniest wrinkles were apparent at the corners of her eyes and mouth, her bright green eyes spoke of her wisdom and internal strength. Once the girls were seated, Lady Smalls continued, "I'm sure you're curious as to my reason for requesting this meeting with you."

            Whisper nodded. "We were rather surprised at your letter, madam."

            "We've had some success with our book," Rio added, "but we haven't been called to such an audience before."

            Lady Smalls nodded and smiled gently. "I, along with many others, find your collection of folk tales to be quite inspired. This is a huge step forward for the works of local storytellers and the language of commoners."

            The sisters glanced at each other and grinned brightly, both sitting up a bit straighter in their chairs. "Thank you, madam," Rio replied calmly, attempting to contain most of her excitement.

            "However," Lady Smalls interjected evenly but firmly, "I was quite upset with your version of the Cinderella tale." She cast Whisper and Rio each a somber stare, and the two girls silently sighed in disappointment. They looked to each other again, wondering what could be said in polite response.

            "There are so many different tellings," Whisper spoke up bravely, her voice slightly hushed and her cheeks barely stained with crimson, "that no one knows exactly how the story originated. People say that the tale appearing in our book- with a fairy godmother and a magical carriage- is the closest to whatever the truth may be."

            Rio nodded resolutely in her sister's defense. "There are those who say that the infamous slipper was made of glass, while others insist it was fur. Others declare that the fairy godmother was the spirit of the girl's mother, or that the father was alive throughout the whole tale." She shrugged and looked directly at Lady Smalls. "I suppose we'll never know the truth of Cinderella, if there is even such a truth that exists."

            The older woman paused momentarily, and the Grimm sisters eyed each other curiously, both wondering if they had somehow upset their hostess. Then Lady Smalls shifted slightly in her chair, turning to the portrait of the young woman.

            "This," she stated in a much more kindly manner than Whisper and Rio had thought she would use, "is Luna- the owner of the infamous slipper." She bent down to extract a shoe from a beautifully carved box. The slipper was neither glass nor fur, but decorated with seemingly hundreds of tiny diamonds, each sparkling like a star on a clear autumn evening.

            Rio and Whisper blinked, studying first the painting and then Lady Smalls, whose expression was just as serious and kind as before.

            "She's not joking," Rio, her eyes widening slightly, murmured to her sister in surprise.

            "So it's true, then?" Whisper inquired, moving forward in her chair. "The story is actually-"

            A smile began to suffuse over Lady Smalls's lips and she nodded serenely. "Yes, this is more than a mere fairy tale- far more. It is the tale of internal strength, immense bravery and true love with overcame so many obstacles." Her smiled widened further as she looked from the slipper to the stunned young women before her. "If I may set the record straight?" She raised the slipper slightly, so that the diamonds glittered even more radiantly, sending tiny rainbows soaring throughout the room. The words of Lady Smalls danced in the air with a fiery brilliance all their own.

To be continued…please review!


	2. Memories

Author's note: Thanks to Rhapsody and Gypsy for their reviews. I appreciate it so much, and I hope you enjoy this part as well.

            The air was bitingly cold as Luna Morgan woke and rose from bed. She clutched a threadbare blanket around her slim body and moved silently, so as not to rouse those still dreaming around her. Although no light filled the servants' quarters, as the sun hadn't yet risen and the girl didn't wish to light a candle, Luna moved with swift and confident movements in the darkness. She slipped on a pair of boots two sizes to large for her and tied her ebony hair into a messy ponytail that trailed down her back. Tossing the blanket back onto her bed, she shivered and willed her teeth to stop chattering as she made her way out of the room and into the frigid morning air.

            A slight fog had risen over the land, causing the ground to almost blend in with the gray sky. She had to strain to see the fields and the gardens. Although she couldn't make out the shape, she knew that the manor stood proudly in the near distance. She paused a moment, trying to see the place where she had lived so happily for the first eight years of her life. Against her will, her heart swelled at the memories.

            A piercingly solemn voice interrupted her nostalgic thoughts. _As if you have time to brood about all day. Medda will slay you for sure if your morning chores aren't done by the time she's awake._

            With a barely audible sigh, Luna began the long walk to the orchard, at the other end of the grounds.

            As she strode through the fields, she couldn't help but frowning in regret. She recalled days long past, when seemingly hundreds of servants had tended to the fields, producing the freshest produce and raising the finest livestock for miles. Now, as only a few teenage servants were left to work (and as Luna's stepmother, Medda, spent money as quickly as the servants could make it for her, Luna remarked to herself with a scoff), the manor was not even a tenth as successful as it had been. Without proper tools, the soil seemed as hard as a rock. Scores of servants had been fired, leaving less people to care for the fields as well as the manor. Occasionally, after glowering at another diamond necklace wrapped around Medda's throat, one of the young servants would shake his head and mutter that they most likely wouldn't have a manor to live at if this behavior kept up.

            _I won't let that happen,_ Luna doggedly vowed to herself, picking up her pace as she marched into the orchard.

            As she began to gather the newly grown apples, Luna's mind wandered to memories of her childhood yet again. Her hands moved mechanically and her eyes glazed over as she recalled when her formerly happy world had taken a dramatic change for the very worst….

~*~

            The sun was just beginning to break over the lush green horizon, casting orange and yellow streaks of light against the gray stone of the manor. It crept into the kitchen, which was unusually silent and empty, and darted around fresh tomatoes, jars of golden honey, and day-old loaves of wheat bread. It rushed through the fields were diligent servants would begin to work in moments, planting vegetables and tending to the livestock. Finally, it spilled into the attic of the servant's quarters, where several young children, all no more than nine years old, were dreaming in cocoons of warm blankets. Occasionally, one would murmur incoherently or twist uncomfortably in reaction to unpleasant dreams, but overall they appeared peaceful and contented.

            An elderly man, scant white hair disappearing from his scalp, trudged into the room and shook his head at the slumbering group. He drew a deep breath and shouted loud enough to be heard in the palace, "Get up! Work to be done! The master's comin' home today!"

            Groaning and blinking sleep out of their eyes, the children obediently (if not willingly) sat up in bed.

            "Aw, Maurice, let us sleep for just a little while longer, huh?" a dark-haired girl muttered groggily and leaned back onto her pillow.

            The older servant's frown deepened as he eyed the girl solemnly. "Sun's been up for almost hours now, SB, and there's a lot to be done before the master returns. No more arguing, get up."

            "Hey, how's about I roll you for it," a sly voice piped up from under a blanket, "double or nothing?" Racetrack yelped when Maurice smacked him smartly over the back of the head and swiftly climbed to his feet in fear of receiving more of a beating. "I was just kidding," the servant boy mumbled as he, along with the other young servants, made their way to the water pump.

            "Really?" inquired Mischief in surprise.

            Racetrack flashed as roguish a grin as he could muster at sunrise. "Not really. But it was worth a shot. Too bad Maurice doesn't like gambling."

            "Too bad the master doesn't like _marrying_," grumbled Skittery as the group staggered out of the small building that the servants all resided in and moved to the water pump. Splashing his face with icy water (which always served to rouse even the sleepiest of servants), he continued, "Three more people to take care of."

            "A baroness," Maniac added, using the rippling pool of water under the pump as a makeshift mirror as she tied up her dark brown tresses. "_She'll_ have to get used to manor life rather quickly."

            Mush nodded his agreement as he laughed, "I can just imagine the Baroness de Meadowlark strolling through the fields with a pink silk gown."

            Snaps shrugged and cupped her hands, filling her palms with the cold water. "The master and Luna aren't difficult to wait on at all. I don't think these three will be very different," she assured her friends and sipped at the liquid warming in her hands.

            Snipeshooter was just about to dispute this point when Maurice stuck his head out of the servants' quarters and cast the group a disapproving stare. "Are you planning to wash up all day? Get moving, now," he ordered the group firmly, in the manner of a matronly aunt. "Lots to do today. Louise'll give you some breakfast if you hurry."

            The prospect of breakfast proved to hurry the servant children. Visions of fresh strawberries and biscuits dancing through their heads, they rushed to the kitchen, momentarily forgetting about the arrival of their master and the new additions to the family.

            Luna was dreaming. She had been unable to sleep for most of the previous night, and had spent her time gazing up at the clear summer sky. Now her dreams were filled with glittering stars and glowing moons. She sighed blissfully in her sleep and snuggled deeper beneath the warm blanket when a sharp sound tossed her from the heavens and back to earth. Blinking away her dreams and wondering if stardust would still line the inside of her eyelids when she awoke fully, she furrowed her forehead and thought, _Hale?_ The noise resonated through her room once again and, sitting up straight in curiosity, she realized that the sound came from someone tossed tiny stones at her window. She tossed her blanket aside, leapt to the icy stone floor, and dashed to the window. Throwing open the pane, she caught sight of a young girl standing on the ground, poised to hurl another pebble into the air.

            "Finally!" Maverick exclaimed as she placed her hands on her hips. She narrowed her deep emerald eyes. "I thought you were going to sleep all day!"

            "Not today!" laughed the young girl as she pushed a lock of ebony hair out of her pale countenance. She had been barely able to get to sleep the night before with the excitement of her father's return before her. It had seemed like an eternity when he had last been at the manor; and now, according to his last letter, he was also bringing home a new family. At the thought of the arrival, Luna frowned solemnly. "What time is it, anyway?"

            "Just past ten o'clock already," Maverick replied with a small grin. "I told you that you had-" She was, however, unable to finish her remark, as Luna had dashed from the window with a cry of distress: "They'll be here any minute!" Then, as Maverick moved to run back to her own home, the sounds of horses' hooves pounding against the dirt road and a small voice cheering in delight echoed in her ears.

            By the front door, the master, a tall man with hair as dark as a raven's feather and well-carved features, stood smiling at the sight of his home. Several of the servants had gathered to view his arrival, including many of the children.

            "Where are they?" demanded Mischief as she gazed at the carriages filled with trunks holding gowns of silk and satin.

            "Maybe the master decided that he'd rather stay single," suggested Snitch with a small shrug.

            "Yeah, so we don't have to do as much work," Snipeshooter replied, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "I'm sure that's all that the master has in mind."

            Just as Snitch opened his mouth to debate that remark, one of the older servants whacked him over the head and motioned to the scores of luggage. "Why are you standing around here?" the servant demanded in the manner of a disapproving, matronly aunt. "Go and help them, for goodness sake."

            As the youngest servants rushed to the carriages in response, they heard a shriek of joy emitted from the entrance of the manor. "Papa!" Luna exclaimed, leaping through the doorway and into her father's open arms.

            Her father laughed pleasantly and studied his daughter with sparkling mahogany eyes, almost the shade of Luna's own. "Look at you, still in your nightgown and past ten o'clock already," he chuckled. "I suppose that you spent half of the sent staring up at the moon as usual." Luna blushed slightly, bringing color to her fair cheeks and grinned, while her father shook his head good-naturedly. "It's so good to be home again."

            "Oh, Papa, I'm so glad you're here," she said, beaming. "So much has happened since you left and…"

            The girl's voice trailed off at the sight of another carriage pulling up to the manor, one far more luxurious than any Luna's family had used. She held her breath and, eyes as wide as soup tureens, gazed at the carriage expectantly.

            A servant dashed to the halted carriage and flung open the door, bowing slightly at the waist. From the shadowy carriage, two small forms became visible. Young girls, roughly Luna's age the servant children guessed, stepped cautiously from the carriage and onto the ground. Both were clad in gorgeous gowns of satin, with tiny pearls decorating the necklines like glowing stars. The taller girl flipped a lock of chestnut brown hair over her shoulder and frowned at the dirt road in disgust, wrinkling her nose at the idea that her delicate slippers were now dusted with grime. The other girl stared at her new surroundings in wonder, her bright blue eyes studying the stone manor, the nearby fields of strawberries, and the scores of servants with curiosity. However, the two stepped aside when an irritated cough from inside the carriage invaded their thoughts.

            The child-servants leaned forward with interest and paused their tasks momentarily to catch sight of their new mistress. Flashes of worry and excitement forked through Luna's mind as she gazed at the carriage.

            As carefully as her daughters had moved, so not to dishevel her appearance in the slightest, Medda stepped out of the carriage and immediately focused her blue eyes on the young girl standing by her new husband's side. She studied Luna's wrinkled nightgown, her bare, calloused feet, and her tangled ebony tresses and a grin slid across her face, as though she realized that she had gained some victory. With gentle fingertips, she reached up to touch her own vibrant red locks (which, the servant children guessed, was not a shade the baroness had been born with) curled to perfection and her deep purple down, tailored to her exact tastes and decorated with tiny diamonds that sparkled in the morning sunlight. Luna, who had been smiling shyly at the sight of her new stepmother, began to frown and blush faintly in embarrassment.

            Medda then turned her attention to her husband. "How…quaint, Jean, really," she murmured with a small laugh that seemed somewhat forced to Luna. It was then that the girl began to wonder what her future with her new family- particularly her new stepmother- would be like. Shaking away somber predictions, she assured herself that her father would never allow harm to come to her, not as long as he still drew breath on this earth….

~*~

            Luna's vision was slightly blurred as she recalled that ominous thought. She brushed teardrops away and forced herself to focus on the task at hand (collecting apples for supper), yet was unable to simply dismiss the memory of her father's death. Not a week after he had returned, he had been killed in a riding accident on his way to business in the city of New York. The young girl vaguely recalled the funeral, and how she had felt as though she were drowning in a sea of tears. She had imagined that nothing could have been worse than that.

            She scowled faintly and shook her head as she, standing on her toes, grabbed for another apple. _I can't understand how Father could have married her. He would never have allowed her to ruin the manor like this._

            The fog was beginning to lift and sunlight was just breaking over the horizon. Luna felt a wave of warmth rush over her and she shut her eyes for a moment, praying for a miracle. Opening her eyes she found that the scene before her hadn't changed in the slightest; the manor was still in near ruins, and she was still forced to work as a servant to keep things running as best she could. It appeared that miracles simply didn't occur in New York.

            Gathering the apples she had picked, Luna started off to the manor, where she was certain her fellow servants were already awake and beginning their day. She smiled slightly at the thought of her friends, but the faint pounding of nearing footsteps caused her to turn cautiously on her heel, eyes filled with grave fire.

To be continued…please review!


	3. A Chance Encounter

Author's note: Thanks to Rhapsody, Falco Conlon, Gypsy, and Ireland O'Reily for their reviews. You guys are great! I hope you enjoy this part as well.

            A cloaked figure slipped through the early morning's darkness without a sound. With the heavy-eyed guards leaning against the walls of the palace in their losing battle against sleep, the young man was certain that he would make it to the stables without anyone suspecting a thing until he was miles away. Although his heart pounded madly in his chest at simultaneous thoughts of escape and capture, he barely dared to breathe for fear of alerting the palace of his flight.

            He crept through the throne room, the moonlight bathing him in an ethereal glow as he moved. He only stopped once to gaze at the thrones, smirking triumphantly.

            _So much for a wedding by the end of the week,_ the young man thought with a silent chuckle, and then quietly rushed out of the palace without causing the slightest disturbance.

            He was halfway to the stables when he caught sight of a pair of soldiers strolling towards him. He swiftly leapt into a shadowy corner and held his breath, praying that the two guardsmen would not notice his form pressed against the gray stones. He lowered the hood of his cloak to completely conceal his well-known features and waited.

            "…and he says to me, 'You can't take _both_ of 'em.' And I says, 'Oh, I thought you meant the dogs!'" the taller guard laughed loudly, his mouth barely visible under his rather large mustache.

            The guards were so involved in their own conversation that they didn't even glance over to attempt to see the young man hidden in the darkness. He gave a heavy sigh of relief when the soldiers were out of earshot, then rolled his eyes at the severe lack of security surrounding the palace. He didn't know whether to be extraordinarily grateful or absolutely furious.

            He was about to dash to the stables when he heard voices drift down from above him. His stomach dropped at his recognized those voices; they could be none other than Queen Mimic and King Dutchy, monarchs of New York.

            "He has to learn to obey the crown and my orders," the king said ominously. "The marriage contract has already been signed."

            "I understand that, Dutchy," Mimic replied, her voice unusually tight. "But I cannot agree that this is the right thing to do for him. He simply cannot be thrown into marriage in this stage of his life."

            "In this stage of his life he has to realize his responsibilities. And I intend to tell him so immediately."

            The young man could imagine the queen rolling her eyes. "Honestly, can't this wait until—"

            Her inquiry was cut short when another voice entered the conversation. The man was evidently a young soldier, somewhat nervous in the presence of the king and queen for some reason. "Your highnesses," he began anxiously, "I regret to inform you that the prince is not…ah…that is to say…"

            "Then say it," Mimic prompted shortly.

            "Prince Spot is…missing, your majesties."

            The young man felt his entire body tighten with anxiety. He did not dare to wait and listen to the rest of the conversation; instead he bolted to the stables and grabbed the first horse he could, a black mare fortunately known for its speed. Without taking the time to properly saddle the animal, he leapt onto its sleek back and rode madly to the palace gates. He could hear the clamor of the guards rushing to their own horses, preparing to capture him and bring him back to his personal prison.

            "Not if I can help it," he said doggedly and rode faster still, not even daring to glance back to see if the soldiers were at his heels.

The cloaked boy did not realize how far he had traveled until he daylight was breaking and his horse slipped a shoe just outside of a small farm. Cursing madly, he found no alternative but to borrow one of the manor's horses; surely they would understand, and he would return it as soon as possible. He leapt onto the unfamiliar horse and was just considering his plan to be a rather good one when a sharp pain pierced through his skull.

*****

            The sight of the cloaked figure riding her father's beloved horse had sent Luna into a calculated rage. Her auburn eyes were bright with fire as she tossed the apples to the damp ground and reached into her back pocket to extract her faithful slingshot. With expert ease she drew it back, aiming at her target as he and the horse flew across the orchard. Without a moment's hesitation she released and struck the thief directly in the head, spending him toppling to the ground and shouting in a combination of pain and surprise.

            "You think you can steal my father's horse?!" she exclaimed and shot another marble at the figure who currently lay on the ground.

            He cried out involuntarily and attempted to rise to his feet. "I'm not stealing it; I'm just—OW!—borrowing it, all right?!"

            "Perfectly understandable," she growled facetiously and narrowed her eyes as she took aim yet again. "And you were just going to return it, were you?"

            " Of—OW!—course. Will you quit that?!"

            "I want to make sure you know never to come here again," she replied and was prepared to shot a fifth marble at him when he threw back his hood, revealing the infamous features of Prince Spot Conlon of New York. Luna's eyes widened in shock and her heart leapt into her throat. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees and avoided eye contact, praying that her punishment for attacking the heir to the thrown would not to be too severe.

            "Forgive me, your highness, I was greatly mistaken," she said with as much calm as she could muster at that point in time.

            Spot frowned at the girl before him, although he couldn't make out her features with her face bent toward the ground and her jet-black locks acting as a veil. Rubbing his head, he muttered, "You didn't mistake any of your shots though, did you?"

            Luna's stomach twisted into a complicated knot. "I know the penalty for such an act is extremely harsh," she said solemnly, imagining gallows, beheadings, and dungeons without sunlight or fresh air.

            If he were quite honest with himself, the prince had to admit that he had absolutely no idea what the punishment would be. He cleared his throat, rather taken back that a young servant girl would know more about the judicial system of his kingdom than he did. "Well, then," he said as he remounted the horse, "forget that you saw me here and, ah, I will forget that you, ah, pelted me."

            "Yes, your highness," Luna murmured in relief and surprise, and knew enough to remain silent as the prince prepared to ride off with her father's horse.

            He gazed at the horizon for a moment, a sight that was not lost on the young woman. She did not have time to consider this or the reason why the prince might feel the need to steal her horse, for Spot had extracted a heavy velvet purse from beneath his cloak. Tossing it to the ground in front of her, he explained briefly, "Take this in exchange for your discretion." Without another word, Spot directed the horse to the forest. Soon the galloping steed and its royal rider had disappeared behind the massive trees.

            Luna lifted the purse with her right hand and did not need to look inside to know what it contained: gold coins, and from its weight a great amount as well. Her eyes traveled to the woods only once more before she realized that Medda and her stepsisters would be awake by now. She tucked the purse and her slingshot safely into her pocket before rushing off to do battle with another sort of enemy.

To be continued…please review!


	4. Plans and Families

Author's note: Wow, has this one been on the back burner! Sorry about my complete lack of updates, but it's my very first crossover _and_ my first romance, so I'm having a lot more problems than I thought I'd have. Just bug me to get working; hopefully that will get me moving. Thanks so much to Rhapsody, Ireland O'Reily, Falco Conlon, Robyn, and SpotslilBoidie for their reviews; I hope you like this part as well. Also, thanks to Firefly for allowing me to make her evil (very different from what she's really like). Enjoy!

            The kitchen smelled of honey-wheat bread baking and about to burn. Several young servants (although they were much older than they had been when they initially began to work at the manor) rushed around the space, grabbing for jars of strawberry jam and containers of butter. Their cheeks were all suffused with a faint crimson due to the small mountain of burning logs in the fireplace. Not given much time to converse, they mainly worked in silence to prepare breakfast for the mistress of the manor who, as it was well known, was not a morning person and therefore apt to fire any sluggish servant.

            "Did _she_ ever wake up on the wrong side of the bed," grumbled Fairy as she entered the kitchen from the dining room, scowling and eyes narrowed. "_Get the butter. The tea's cold. I didn't want _this _kind of bread. _Who put the tack in her nightgown?"

            "Probably Snipeshooter," Boots chuckled as he stirred a massive pot of soup boiling over the fire.

            The girl glared at the teakettle as she poured steaming liquid into a new cup. "Hope she burns her tongue on it," she muttered bitterly.           

            Maniac smiled warmly at the frowning blonde. "I'll serve breakfast for you today, if you watch the bread for me," she offered, to which Fairy breathed a loud sigh of relief. "Thanks. For a minute I was sure she was going to stab me with her fingernails or suffocate me with her feather boa."

            "I wouldn't put it past her," Snaps mumbled in an uncommonly bitter tone from the isolated corner in which she had been cracking eggshells and dripping the yolk into a bowl.

            The other servants eyed Snaps sympathetically, realizing the cause of her bad mood. Only two days prior, Medda (who had been particularly in need of tax money after she had purchased a new sterling silver necklace for Firefly) had sold Snitch to the palace. There, no doubt, he would be imprisoned and, when he had served an acceptable time in jail, shipped to New Jersey, never to see his home or Snaps again. The servants were silently returning to their work when Luna entered the kitchen. Her countenance was unusually somber and she offered only a vague greeting to her friends. Mischief and Racetrack cast each other a bewildered glance over the firewood they tossed into the flames. As she stood on her toes to reach a pile of neatly folded napkins, SB inquired, "Hey, Luna, you okay? The moon didn't stop rising or anything, did it?" She gave the girl a playful smile in hopes of raising her friend's spirits.

            A slow grin suffused at the corners of Luna's mouth. "I certainly hope not," she replied, "because we're going to be rather busy tonight."

            Boots halted his stirring and cocked his head curiously. "What do you mean?"

            "Snitch is still being held in the palace's prison, right?" she prompted her friends.

            At the mention of Snitch, Snaps lifted her head, her eyes wide with hope. "The Refuge," she remarked cautiously, wondering what Luna was getting at, "where all of the young servants are held before their future is determined."

            "Too bad it's always determined that they're sent to Jersey," scoffed SB.

            "Well, the palace is going to be in somewhat of an uproar today, what with the prince having escaped this morning," the raven-haired girl continued with a sly grin. Off the confused stares of her peers, she shook her head absently. "Let's just say a little bird told me. Anyway, with the guards all concerned about the prince's whereabouts…"

            Snaps's eyes brightened as she realized Luna's plan. "Then they won't notice if a certain unjustly held servant isn't in the Refuge any longer." Leaping from her corner, she threw her arms around Luna's neck and exclaimed, "That's perfect!"

            Skittery remained solemn, frowning unconvinced. "But what about Medda? Won't she notice if the servant she just sold is scrubbing the floors and serving her breakfast again?"

            Maniac shook her head indifferently. "We can cross that bridge when we come to it."

            "Not to mention…" Luna murmured, digging into her pocket and extracting the heavy velvet purse. She tossed it onto the counter where it opened and spilled gold coins onto the wood. "We can purchase some of my father's belongings that _she_ sold to pay off her taxes."

            Fairy's blue eyes widened at the sight of the coins sparkling in the light of the fire. Raising her head to meet Luna's cheerful gaze, she sighed, "How about tomorrow you serve breakfast and I'll get up early to pick apples?"

*****

            Medda's long pink fingernails drummed a slow, steady tattoo onto the mahogany table. Her mouth was set in a tight, demanding frown as though it had been carved that way. Aside from the disappearance of the somewhat-forced smile she had adopted, she didn't appear that much different from the time she had first arrived at the manor. Her flaming hair was often dyed to conceal any possible strands of silver. Any wrinkles or figure flaws were hidden by expensive make up and yards of colorful satin. But what remained the most vivid throughout the years were her eyes, alert and cold and calculating; and at this moment, they were focused on the door.

            "Where is that girl?" she muttered irritably.

            "Probably lazing about somewhere," drawled Firefly as she inspected her perfectly sculpted nails. "We really put up with too much from her, Mother. Yesterday she barely dusted my room."

            Harlaquinne, who had been studying the intricate pattern on her empty plate, lifted her bright blue eyes. "She did an excellent job on my room yesterday," she piped up enthusiastically. At the sight of her mother and sister's identical glaring eyes, she bit at the corner of her lower lip. Her shoulders fell as she waited for the inevitable response.

            Medda paused dramatically, her eyes becoming slits as she focused on her youngest daughter. "Harlaquinne, _dear,_" she practically hissed her words. What have I told you about speaking without being spoken _to?_"

            "A…a lady of breeding…" she trailed off as she tried to recall one of her mother's numerous lectures, "…doesn't?"

            From across the table, Firefly smirked and sniggered softly as she buttered a piece of bread. Medda sighed in either defeat or contempt and tossed a few flaming curls over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, as though asking for divine intervention, before turning her attention back to the door. "Where is that girl?" she repeated hotly. "Luna!"

            "Coming," a breathless Luna answered as she rushed into the room, balancing several plates on her arms. As she placed the dishes in front of her family members, she murmured absently, "Good morning, Stepmother…Firefly…Harlaquinne."

            Harlaquinne's expression brightened at the remark, and a response was halfway out of her mouth when she caught sight of her mother's narrowing eyes. Instantly she lowered her head, wincing slightly like a small animal. She studied her plate intently, as though she found her eggs absolutely fascinating.

            Medda either didn't notice or didn't care about her daughter's reaction. Instead, she eyed Luna distrustfully. "Where were you?"

            "I was gathering apples," the dark-haired girl replied smoothly, "and as the best apples grow at the top of the tree I had to-"

            "Yes, yes, that's quite enough," she interjected, waving her hand as though carelessly brushing away a fly. As Luna placed a bowl of fruit on the table, Medda studied the girl carefully. "Your dress is utterly revolting," she finally remarked, spitting out the words as though they were seeds. "No wonder the manor needs such cleaning every day; you must bring in half of the dirt from the fields."

            A smirk spread across Firefly's lips as she glanced up from her cup. "There are dogs with more cleanliness than you possess," she drawled.

            Medda either didn't notice or mind her daughter's remark. She continued, "I insist that you never appear wearing such an outfit in my presence again."

            "Yes, Madame," Luna murmured as she set down the last of the plates. Her expression remained detached, as though her stepmother had simply been commenting on the mildness of the weather. She had grown used to such daily comments from Medda, who seemed to enjoy berating her stepdaughter at any available situation. She made the smallest of bows, her eyes directed at the floor rather than her stepmother's eyes, and moved to leave the room.

            Her tongue, however, did not prove to be so courteous at that moment. "Perhaps if you had not sold all of the servants, you would not be forced to see me so often," she muttered sarcastically before she could catch herself.

            Eyes widening slightly in anger, Medda whirled around in her chair. "Luna!" she shouted sharply, her voice slicing the air. The girl halted and turned slowly but obediently to face the red-haired woman.

            "I should throw you out into the streets for your insolence," she hissed. Her long nails dug into the arms of her chair. "Then you would come to realize how truly generous I have been to you. I have given you all that you could possibly need in exchange for a few simply tasks around the house." She adopted an affronted veneer, as though she couldn't understand the cause of Luna's audacity. "I advise you to think about that as you give both the basement and the stables a thorough cleaning this afternoon, in addition to your other chores."

            Luna nodded solemnly. "Yes, Madame," she repeated softly and, managing to control her tongue, slipped out of the room without another word.

            Medda sighed heavily and turned her attention to her fresh cup of tea. "Honestly, that girl is more trouble than she's worth. Of course, that's not saying much, is it?" She laughed lightly and sipped at the warm liquid.

To be continued…please review!


	5. A Foiled Escape

Author's Note: Yet another story that had an update and I'd kind of forgotten about. Huge warning: the updates for this story will be few and far between, since it's not a huge priority right now. Still, I thought that I might as well post this since it was done and I hadn't updated in years. Also, if anyone can tell me why my documents won't save little star things for breaks, let me know. And why won't they indent? I'm uploading like I always did. Le sigh.

Thanks to Rhapsody and Ireland O'Reily for reviewing! I really appreciate it.

Prince Spot rubbed his hands together and quietly cursed his thoughtlessness. _Would it honestly have killed you to think to bring a good pair of gloves?_ he demanded of himself. _Of course, I wasn't exactly thinking about warm clothing when I decided to run away_. _No, not run away,_ he corrected himself sternly, reminiscent of his elderly Latin tutor. _I'm simply taking the only opportunity to see the world before I'm forced into wedlock._

Spot detested the word 'wedlock'. It conjured up images of firm shackles and cramped cages.

_Particularly when I will be marrying a lady I haven't even met,_ he thought and scoffed noisily, as though to emphasize his silent remark, although the only creature near enough to hear him was his stolen horse.

He recalled the week prior, when his parents had first informed him of their intentions to arrange his engagement to the princess of New Jersey. "From what I hear, Princess Spades is a lovely girl," his mother had said in an attempt to pacify him after he loudly refused to take part in such a marriage. "Hazel eyes, dark brown hair that shines with a reddish tint in the sun." Spot, however, was unmoved.

_She'll be just like all the rest of them,_ he thought scornfully. _A simpering, fawning idiot with more flattery than sense._

He shook the thought out of his head. "You don't have to worry about that, at least not for the moment," he assured himself. The horse neighed, as though agreeing with his remark.

For the first time in what seemed like months, Spot surprised himself with genuine laughter. He patted the animal on its neck, and chuckled, "Well, I managed to swipe the most intelligent horse in Brooklyn. I hope that is a sign of good things to come."

He immediately wished to take back his words, for the shrill sounds of panicked screams and noisy guffaws of triumph pierced his eardrums. He scowled petulantly, praying that his ears were deceiving him, and slowed his horse to a halt. When the cries did not vanish, he found himself at the edge of a moral precipice.

_If I help whoever is in danger, _he told himself, silently cursing the people who had gotten themselves in trouble, _I'll lose the lead I have over the Brooklyn soldiers. And if they really are that close behind me, they'll be along soon enough to help this injured party in my place._ He allowed his horse to talk a single step forward before halting him once again. _Damn,_ he thought angrily, and muttered several ungentlemanly phrases as he rode in the direction of the shouts.

He neared a clearing, where a band of gypsies were evidently raiding a group of carriages. Spot scowled again, wishing that he had taken care of these bandits long ago if only so that he could have prevented this entire situation.

Since he could not fix his past mistakes, he wondered how he was going to take on at least a dozen gypsies single-handedly. He extracted his slingshot from his back pocket, causing him to remember the servant girl who had attacked him earlier that morning. He attempted to ignore both his bruised forehead and his wounded pride. _I can't very well run into the middle of the clearing and expect defeat them,_ he thought. _Perhaps if I-_

Spot couldn't tell whether the sound of approaching soldiers was a curse or a blessing. He was thankful that they would now take care of the gypsies, but worried that they had caught up to him so quickly.

He caught sight of a tall, slender young woman with a pair of disheveled braids hanging against her back leap onto one of the carriages. "Cheese it!" she cried to her fellow gypsies. "It's the bulls!"

With speeds rivaling lightning, the gypsies gathered as much as they could carry and dashed into the thick forest, disappearing almost immediately. Spot respected their ability to get away so effectively. As the sounds of the soldiers grew closer, he realized that the quickest way out was through the clearing and into the densest part of the forest. He urged his horse forward, and was silently congratulating himself on escaping the soldiers, when, almost out of the clearing, an elderly man leapt in his path.

"Please, sir!" the man besought passionately, his hand at his breast as though he feared his heart would escape just as easily as the gypsies had. "Please help me!"

"The soldiers are nearly here, they will-" Spot began, but the old man swiftly interjected.

"A gypsy has run off with my book! I beg of you, please, help me!"

Spot felt, rather than heard or saw, the soldiers closing in on him. _This is your last chance,_ he told himself as he gazed towards the distant horizon. Then, with a sign of resignation, he turned to the elderly man once again.

"Which way did he go?" he inquired.

The man's eyes flashed with gratitude and relief. "That way! Into the forest!" he instructed, pointing into the woods. Spot nodded and urged his horse in that direction, not even hearing shouts of gratitude that followed him.

As he ducked low branches and guided his horse around thick roots that reached sinuously out of the ground, the prince of Brooklyn resolved to have the soldiers deal with the problem of gypsies immediately. He was not, however, able to develop a thorough plan for this, as he was caught off guard by a rather large marble striking him directly in the forehead.

_Why does everyone insist on doing that?_ he asked himself as he slowed his horse to a halt and glanced around at the seemingly empty forest.

A twig snapped behind him. Slingshot poised to shoot, Spot turned to see a gypsy, with a tome under his arm, cursing his luck and running further into the woods. Spot followed, barely daring to blink lest his lose sight of the gypsy, who had a considerable lead and knowledge of the forest. He shot at the gypsy's nape and cursed himself when he missed by a foot to the left. Resolving to practice his skill with a slingshot, he took aim again and this time hit the young man in the middle of the back. The gypsy yelped in pain and, startled by the sudden sting, tripped. He managed to catch his balance but he stood in vain; Spot and his horse had already caught up with him.

The prince's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he aimed a marble at the center of the gypsy's face. "Hand over the book," he drawled, "especially if you have the burning desire to avoid unnecessary pain."

The gypsy's eyes remained confident despite his realization that he had no way to escape with his prize. "Go to hell," he growled and hurled the book at Spot's head.

His hands still clutching his slingshot, Spot was unprepared for the tome and caught the force of it in the center of his chest. A moment later he found himself sprawled on the damp earth with the book resting on his stomach. The gypsy had managed to disappear in the few seconds that Spot was flying through the air. The princes horse whinnied in amusement as he turned to study his former rider.

"I must be crazy," Spot confessed as he remounted the courser. "Not only did I give up my freedom for a book and a few new bruises, I have now acquired the habit of conversing with my horse." He nudged the horse in the direction of the clearing. "Come on, we have soldiers to face."

(((time break, please help!)))

Swifty, captain of the Royal Guard and the youngest man to hold that position in over a century, shook his head reprovingly at the sight of the disheveled, scowling prince. "Your majesty, I thought you were through with juvenile pranks," he mumbled once Spot was within earshot, keeping his voice low so that the other soldiers would not hear his cavalier attitude towards the heir to the throne of New York.

The prince raised his chin in an uncommonly regal manner. "It wasn't a juvenile prank," he contested. "I thought I would take the opportunity to see the world before I'm practically shackled to someone I haven't even met." His eyes wandered to the elderly man rushing towards the pair. "Unfortunately I was swayed otherwise."

"Thank you, thank you!" the older man shouted, reaching his arms out for the massive book. "I am eternally grateful," he declared, his eyes were focused on the tome rather than the young prince.

"Don't mention it," Spot replied and winced at the memory of falling off of his horse (although he planned not to relate that aspect of the chase to anyone who might care to listen). He raised a curious eyebrow. "What's so important about that book anyway?"

Swifty chuckled quietly before nodding to the elderly man. "Prince Spot, may I introduce Leonardo da Kloppman, scholar, writer, and new artist in residence to the palace of Brooklyn."

Spot's eyes widened slightly. "_The _Leonardo da Kloppman?" he murmured, unable to conceal his awed surprise.

Da Kloppman nodded calmly, still not looking at the prince. He skimmed carefully through the pages of tidy script before glancing up. "Yes, yes, that's me," he remarked absently, obviously still thinking about the book he clutched with dry, cracking hands. "The king—your father—had invited Dentongelo, but he was too busy writing for King Roosevelt, so here I am."

"Maybe this shows how your father is open to new ideas," the captain remarked hopefully. "Da Kloppman has written some of the most innovative books of our time."

"Let us hope," Spot sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, causing the elderly man to raise a curious eyebrow. Seeing this gesture, the prince continued, "My father still believes that the practice of arranged marriages is a good one."

"Prince Spot is to marry Princess Spades of New Jersey," Swifty added.

Da Kloppman nodded understandingly. "Then I hope I can be of some inspiration," he replied, somewhat laughingly, and climbed back into his carriage.

Spot took this as a sign that the writer wished to continue his journey to the palace. He furrowed his forehead in astonishment and turned to the captain, murmuring, "Not exactly caught up in courtly conduct, is he?" he asked in amusement.

"I thought you weren't impressed with courtiers and all that."

"I'm not. We might as well get back to the palace. I'd rather face the wrath of my parents now, with da Kloppman in tow."

To be continued...please review!


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